


A reasonable solution

by gothikmaus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2479892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothikmaus/pseuds/gothikmaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade crossed his arms. "Let me get this straight: you're saying we should get it on so we could be more useful to you."</p>
<p>Sherlock grimaced. "It does sound rather crude if you put it that way."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A reasonable solution

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [schwimmerin](http://schwimmerin.livejournal.com) for reading this story and giving me her opinion on it.

“Now would be the perfect time to ask her,” Sherlock said as they walked out of the morgue.

“Ask what? Whom?” Lestrade muttered as he patted the pockets of his jacket in search of a lighter, cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Ask her out for a drink. She enjoys spending an evening at the pub every now and then. She wants to move on and could use some male company right now.”

Lestrade just frowned at him.

Sherlock sighed. “Molly, Lestrade. Even John asked me if there was, and I quote him, “something going on”, which means your interest in her is beyond obvious at this point. I should warn you, though, she's still not completely over that ridiculous crush she had on me. But you met Tom, so that shouldn't come as a surprise.”

Lestrade blinked at him. “Are you... I'm sorry, are you giving me _relationship advice_?”

Sherlock looked at him out of the corner of his eye, his expression halfway between condescending and disgusted. “I'm merely offering a suggestion. You have been increasingly short-tempered since your divorce and her ability to focus has become appalling lately. You both seem to work better and be less prone to making banal mistakes when you're in a relationship or at least having sex regularly.”

Lestrade crossed his arms. “Let me get this straight: you're saying we should get it on so we could be more useful to you.”

Sherlock grimaced. “It does sound rather crude if you put it that way.”

Lestrade snorted and walked away, shaking his head as he lit up his cigarette.

***

“It's a perfectly reasonable solution, you know,” Sherlock commented apropos of nothing, appearing at Lestrade's side out of nowhere and making him almost drop a forensic bag.

“Bloody hell. What did I tell you about sneaking up on me?”

Sherlock ignored the comment. “Did you think about it?”

Lestrade closed his eyes and took a long breath, exhaling slowly. “Think about what?”

“Molly.”

Lestrade groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. “Can we please not talk about this? There's a body still needing to be identified.”

“Which means you're going to stop at the morgue later. Perfect timing, I'd say.”

“Look, Sherlock, I appreciate the thought...”

“Don't try to say you're not interested: your “puppy eyes” - John's words, not mine - really are quite obvious.”

“And what makes you think the feeling is mutual? I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but I think I'd notice if a woman fancied me.”

“Aren't women supposed to love a man in uniform? Even though, strictly speaking, you're not wearing one.” Sherlock shrugged. “Use your charm.”

“Oh, yes, because “charming” would be the first word that comes to her mind if a man almost twenty years her senior asked her out for a pint.” He caught sight of Donovan stepping out of the victim's front door and nodded at her when she looked in his direction. “Do me a favour: use that big brain of yours just to solve murders and leave my love life alone,” he added and walked towards the sergeant.

***

Lestrade was entering the morgue when his mobile phone buzzed. New message from Sherlock: _Enjoy the coffee_. _SH._ He frowned. Had Sherlock started making telephonic deductions? Was his caffeine craving so strong it could be felt from a distance? And where was he anyway? They should have met 20 minutes earlier, but the tosser hadn't shown up. He put the phone back into his pocket and opened the door. The room was familiar: white, sterile and smelling of disinfectant. The only touch of colour was Molly's yellow jumper, which looked outrageously bright under her immaculate lab coat.

“Hey, Molly. Got anything for me?”

Molly looked up from her computer and smiled. “Coffee, apparently.”

Lestrade blinked. “Coffee?”

She picked up a paper cup from a corner of the desk and put it down in front of him. “Sherlock asked me to go grab him some coffee, but when I came back he was gone. He sent me a message saying you'd be around shortly and would probably need it.”

Lestrade looked from Molly's face to the coffee cup. The bastard.

"Er, yes, I could use some caffeine right now, thanks.” He grabbed the cup and took a sip: it was still warm. “So, anything useful from the autopsy?” 

“Not really. Cause of death was, predictably, the gunshot wound. No sign of struggle, no drugs or suspicious substances in his system.” 

Lestrade looked at her as she read the results. She looked tired, as if she hadn't had a good night's sleep in a while. She wasn't as tense as she had been just after the break-up, but she wasn't completely fine either. 

“Sorry I couldn't be more helpful,” she added, her eyes meeting his again. 

“Not your fault,” he replied, smiling at her. He thought of Sherlock's words. Maybe an evening at the pub wasn't such a bad idea after all: they both needed to unwind, take their minds off work. It didn't have to be anything more than two friends having a drink. Just as he opened his mouth to ask her if she was free that evening, she yawned, her hand coming up to cover her mouth at the last moment. 

“Oh, God, I'm so sorry, that was very rude of me.” 

Lestrade smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Go home and get some rest. Don't let these corpses get in the way of your beauty sleep.” He picked up the paper cup and walked to the door. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said, toasting her before he left. 

*** 

“I see you persist in refusing to follow my advice.” 

Lestrade sighed. Sherlock was standing in front of his desk, hands in his coat pockets and... Well, there was no other way to describe it: he was sulking. 

“And I see you persist in poking your nose into my personal life.” 

Sherlock snorted. “You don't have a personal life.” 

Lestrade bit down the rude reply that rose to his lips. “Look, Sherlock, people don't just jump into a relationship simply because it's convenient.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “All right, some people do, but I'm not like that and I'm pretty sure Molly isn't either. Just give it time: if something's meant to happen, it'll happen.” 

Sherlock focused his gaze on him and Lestrade had to make an effort not to squirm in his seat under the scrutiny. 

“My method would be far more efficient,” he eventually said. “And quicker. Looking at you act like a lovesick puppy causes me physical pain.” 

Lestrade restrained himself from mentioning pots, kettles or John Watson.“Does that mean you'll finally leave me alone?” 

Sherlock only smirked before turning around and walking out of his office. Lestrade groaned and let himself fall forward, his forehead hitting his desk with a loud thud. 

*** 

“Sir?” 

Lestrade looked up from the report he was reading and saw a young constable standing in the doorway. 

“Yes?” 

“There's someone for you, sir. Miss Hooper. She has something for you. Said it's important.” 

Lestrade frowned. “Hooper? Molly Hooper?” 

“Yes, sir. She says it's from Sherlock Holmes.” 

Lestrade's frown deepened. Sherlock wasn't working on any of their cases at the moment. 

“Well, let her in then.” 

The constable moved aside and Molly stepped forward. 

“Er. Hi.” 

“Molly. Come in, come in.” Lestrade waved her in and thanked the constable, telling him he could go. “Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?” 

Molly sat down on the other side of his desk and placed her bag on her knees. “I'm sorry to disturb you, but Sherlock came to the morgue and told me to give this to you as soon as possible,” she explained and handed him an envelope. “He said it was urgent.” 

Lestrade took the envelope and opened it. Inside he found the business card of a café – he could see from the address it was just a few streets away from Scotland Yard – and a hand-written note saying “ _You know what to do_ ”. 

Lestrade muttered a curse under his breath and pushed both pieces of paper back into the envelope. 

“Is everything all right?” Molly asked, her expression worried. 

Lestrade shook his head. “Yeah, just Sherlock being, you know, Sherlock.” 

Molly smiled. She looked quiet sweet when she smiled. And young. So much younger than him. 

Lestrade pursed his lips. “So, er, fancy some coffee?” 

*** 

The place was actually decent: not too crowded, not too loud and the drinks weren't terribly overpriced. 

“So,” Lestrade asked, idly drumming his fingers against his mug. “How are things?” 

“Oh, not bad. Things are a bit quiet at the morgue at the moment. I mean, they're always quiet, what with it being a morgue and all. I mean...” 

Lestrade smiled. Molly did get flustered quite easily. “I know what you mean. I'm all for a bit of excitement, but it's nice to have a slow day every now and then.” 

“Yeah.” Molly smiled and took a sip of her tea. 

He glanced down, gaze lingering on her bare ring finger. She noticed and moved her hand, hiding it behind the cup. 

“I'm sorry it didn't work out with Tom, he seemed to be a nice bloke.” 

She shrugged. “Well, I guess he wasn't the right one, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself. Everyone must think I'm silly and hopeless, going for a Sherlock lookalike when I couldn't have the real one. So much for moving on.” 

“Hey, don't say that. You know what they say, you can't help who you fall for and all that. Well, it's true. And getting over someone who means a lot to you isn't easy. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about.” 

It had taken him months to get used to the sensation of not wearing his wedding ring and even now, almost two years after the divorce, he sometimes caught himself wondering “What if...” 

Molly looked down at his left hand. “Do you still think about your wife?” 

“Sometimes. We were married for almost twenty years, that's not something you can just brush away. But it's different now.” 

They finished their drinks in silence. As they left the café, Molly smiled at him. “Thank you, I hadn't really talked about it with anyone.” 

“Any time. And if you ever wanna chat, or need a drink after a frustrating day at work, you know where to find me.” 

Molly's smile got broader. “I might just take you up on that offer.” 

*** 

A week after their meeting at the café, Lestrade received a text from Molly: _Are you free this evening? I could really use a drink. Molly_. 

Lestrade stared at his mobile. He wondered briefly if it were possible for Sherlock to hack into Molly's phone and text him – it wouldn't be the first time he did something like that. A few seconds later he received another message: _Only if you want. Feel free to say no._ He smiled. Definitely not Sherlock. 

_I'd love to. You_ _have a place in mind?_ _Greg._

Molly sent him the name and address of a pub and they agreed to meet there after work. She was already sitting at a table when he arrived, hands loosely wrapped around a glass, and he stopped at the bar to get a pint of his own. 

“Hey,” he greeted her as he sat down. 

She looked up, startled, as if she had been completely absorbed in her own thoughts. “Greg! Sorry, I didn't see you come in.” 

He frowned. “Are you all right?” 

“Yeah, I...” Her grip on the glass grew tighter and she sighed. “No, not really. I met Tom on the way to work today. It was really awkward, I couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say, but he was so kind, he's always kind. And then later Sherlock showed up at the morgue and he was so horrible. I mean, not really horrible, he's done much worse, he's actually become a bit better lately, but I couldn't...” She took a deep breath. “Why can't he be a bit more like Tom? Like a... normal human being?” 

Lestrade gave her a small smile. “Because he wouldn't be Sherlock.” 

Molly laughed a little. “You're right. God, I'm so stupid, I should talk about this with my friends, not bother a police inspector from Scotland Yard. But Jenn's out of town and Sue's got a new boyfriend and...” 

“Molly,” Lestrade placed a hand on top of hers. “Do you think any of your friends could understand what it's like to deal with Sherlock Bloody Holmes?” 

She opened her mouth to answer and closed it again. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “They couldn't.” 

“If you need someone to commiserate with, you came to the right man.” Lestrade leaned back in his chair and took a sip of beer. “Have I ever told you about the first time we worked on a case together?” 

*** 

By the time they finished their drinks Molly was actually laughing, a nice flush colouring her cheeks. 

“I can't believe he said that in front of everyone. No, wait, I actually can.” 

“You should've seen the superintendent's face. It's a miracle I could keep my job after that,” Lestrade added and raised the glass to his lips, draining what was left of his beer. He was considering getting another pint, when he saw Molly check her mobile. 

“Oh, is it so late already?” 

He checked his watch. It wasn't really late, but they both had to work in the morning and it was definitely better if he held off that extra beer. 

He held the door open for her as they exited the pub. 

“Do you want me to call you a taxi?” 

“Oh, no, thank you, I live just around the corner.” 

“I'll walk you home then. A girl shouldn't wander about on her own at night.” 

Molly smiled. “I'm not a girl. And it's not even 10 PM.” 

Lestrade grinned and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You never know what might be lurking in the shadows.” 

The walk to Molly's place took only a few minutes. She rummaged in her bag until she found the keys and smiled at him. 

“Thank you. I really needed that.” 

He returned the smile. “Don't even mention it.” 

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Goodnight, Greg.” 

“Goodnight.” 

He waited until she had closed the door behind her and walked back towards the main street. 

*** 

Lestrade looked at Sherlock's retreating form, coat billowing dramatically after him as usual, and took his mobile out of his pocket. 

_Hey Molly, it's Greg. Sherlock's coming to the morgue. He's in one of his moods._

He sent the message and sighed. The poor girl really shouldn't have to put up with Sherlock and his histrionics, especially after everything she had done for him. 

His phone buzzed. 

_Thanks for the heads-up! I'll keep the riding crop at hand. ;)_

Lestrade stared at the screen. He was still trying to figure out if that was some sort of in-joke he had failed to grasp when his phone buzzed again. 

_Ohgod itsnot wha you think!_

He smirked at the hastily written words. 

_Pity. It was an interesting mental image._

Another buzz. 

_This is so embarrassing. It's really, really not like that._

Lestrade shook his head. 

_Care to explain what it is? Same pub as last week? You'll need a drink later. Yes, his mood is that bad._

His thumb hovered over the send button for a second. Was he really asking Molly out for a drink? The pad of his thumb touched the screen. Message sent. He could blame it on Sherlock later. 

*** 

Lestrade waited until Molly had raised the glass to her lips. 

“So, the riding crop.” 

Molly choked, coughing and spluttering, and he felt only a tiny bit guilty. 

“You did it on purpose, didn't you?” She glared at him as she dabbed at her mouth and chin with a napkin. 

“Did what?” He asked, but was pretty sure his grin was anything but innocent. 

The conversation continued on the same easy, laid-back tone. Molly told him she had successfully kept Sherlock's drama to a minimum thanks to an experiment that had kept him busy for a couple of hours (something involving an intestine, Molly thankfully spared him the details after taking a look at his face) and Lestrade shared the latest developments of his ongoing investigations. It felt good, talking about nothing in particular, just enjoying each other's company. 

Before he realised it, it was time to leave. He walked Molly home again, ignoring her protests about being a grown-up woman and not needing an escort for a five-minute walk. 

When they stopped in front of her place, he was the one to lean in and kiss her cheek, his hand lingering maybe a little too long on her waist. 

“Goodnight.” 

He could swear she was blushing as she smiled up at him. 

*** 

Five years old. She was only five years old. She should be running around in a playground or watching cartoons in her living room, not lying dead on a morgue table, her baby blue dress covered in blood and dirt. How could someone kill a five-year-old girl? And all clues were pointing in the same direction: not a random burglar or a crazy serial killer, but the kind man next door, someone she knew and trusted. 

Lestrade had seen his fair share of murders, but when children were involved... 

“Greg.” 

Lestrade started. Molly was standing in front of him, a hand resting on his arm. 

He shook his head and blinked, trying to focus. “Sorry, come again?” 

She studied him for a moment, then put down the folder she was holding, grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the room. They passed a few closed doors and eventually walked into what looked like a lounge area, with small round tables and plastic chairs. 

“Sit down,” Molly said as she released his wrist and walked to the vending machines on the other side of the room. A couple of minutes later she came back carrying two steaming paper cups. She put them down on the table and took a seat next to him. 

Lestrade stared at her. 

“You looked like you needed a break. I know it's hard when there are children involved.” 

Lestrade could have kissed her. He had to make an enormous effort not to reach out and wrap her in a big hug. Instead, he muttered a barely audible “Thanks” and concentrated on his tea, lifting the cup to his lips and taking a sip. 

They sat in silence, a few doctors coming and going, some of them greeting Molly on their way to the vending machines. As Lestrade finished his tea, he had to admit he felt much better. 

“Right, back to work then,” he said and stood up. He grabbed the two empty cups and threw them into the bin. 

Molly smiled and followed him out of the room. 

***

Sherlock was quiet. Too quiet. He always tuned out everything and everyone when he was hunting for clues, but something was clearly not right. He hadn't even made one of his usual scathing remarks when he had seen Donovan, he had just nodded curtly and walked right past her. 

Lestrade knew he was going to regret it, but he had to find out what was going on. 

“All right, what's wrong?” 

“Nothing's wrong,” Sherlock replied without looking up from the victim's expensive-looking shoes. 

Lestrade rubbed his forehead. “Sherlock, as much as I like the fact you haven't insulted me or my team once since you arrived, this isn't your normal behaviour. Not that your behaviour could ever be considered normal, but you know what I mean. So, what's up?” 

Sherlock sighed. “Nothing's “up”, Lestrade. I'm merely trying to be nice to you, something you obviously don't appreciate.” 

Lestrade blinked. “You... Sorry, you what?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Molly was very clear: she said if I want to continue to have access to Bart's labs, I have to be nice to you and your team. Finding someone else who would let me use the facilities would take far too long, not to mention the process would be horribly tedious. So, appreciate the effort and inform her accordingly, she will check up on you later.” 

Lestrade didn't quite know what to say. 

Sherlock stood up and removed his latex gloves. “It was his brother. Obviously. I won't bore you with the details, I'm sure your extremely competent forensic team will find all the evidence you need in his garden.” 

Lestrade grinned. “No need to overdo it, Sherlock, people might think you're taking the piss.” 

Sherlock raised his chin. “Just tell Molly I did what she asked. I need Bart's equipment for a very important experiment tomorrow.” 

Lestrade watched him turn on his heel and stalk away. He shook his head. Molly definitely deserved more than a pint this time. 

*** 

They had dinner at an Indian restaurant Donovan had mentioned a few times. The place was tiny, with just a handful of tables, but the food was utterly delicious. Lestrade grabbed one of the take away menus on his way out, sure he would come back soon. 

“Thanks,” Molly said as he kept the door open for her. 

The light drizzle from earlier had turned into heavy rain and Molly fished out a small lilac umbrella from her bag. It was barely enough for one person, but she insisted on sharing it with Lestrade. After he refused twice, she grabbed his arm and pulled him to her side. 

“You want to be a gentleman? Here, hold this,” she said, shoving the handle in his hand. “Shall we?” 

“Please,” Lestrade replied, waving at her to go on. 

They walked towards the nearest Tube station, the little umbrella not doing much to shield them from the rain. 

“Also, thanks for dinner,” Molly said as they stopped at a traffic light. 

Lestrade smiled at her. “It's the least I could do, I'd never seen Sherlock so well-behaved before.” 

She sighed. “I wish he didn't act like that, at least with people who care about him, but he's never going to change, is he?” 

Lestrade put an arm around her and squeezed her gently. “It's not your fault. It's a small miracle you got him to be decent to my team and for that I'll forever be grateful.” 

“Yeah, but I had to threaten him. It's not fair, you've done so much for him. And at the funeral... Everyone was worried about John, but I saw how hard it was for you too and I knew, I knew but I couldn't say anything, he made me promise.” She turned around to face him. “I'm sorry.” 

Lestrade didn't know how to respond to that. So he did the one thing he had told himself countless times not to do: he leaned down and kissed her. 

Molly stood still for a moment, then tentatively put a hand on his shoulder. It had been a while since Lestrade had kissed anyone. He had missed the feel of soft lips against his, of a warm body pressed close. The position wasn't ideal: he had an arm loosely wrapped around Molly and was holding the umbrella with his other hand; he could also feel Molly's bag poking his side, but he didn't really care. 

He eventually pulled back, just a few inches, just enough to look at her. Her face was flushed, lips slightly parted. 

“I've wanted to do this for a long time.” 

Molly looked down at her hand, which had slid down and was now resting just below his collarbone. 

“Greg, I...” 

“I know,” Lestrade murmured. He wanted to throw the umbrella away and take her face in his hands, kiss all her insecurities away, but he suspected such a move would only work in a romcom. So he simply pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I'm not Sherlock. No one's ever going to be Sherlock. Just... give me a chance?” 

Molly didn't say anything, but didn't move away either. After a while, she placed her other hand lightly against his chest and gave a tiny nod. 

They stood like that for a few more moments, then Lestrade reluctantly pulled back. 

“I'd stay here forever, but I'm getting soaked. How about we catch the Tube?” 

He thought he had never seen anything sweeter than Molly's smile. 

*** 

Lestrade knew Sherlock would notice as soon as he saw him, so he didn't even try to hide the smile he had been sporting all day. 

“You finally decided to follow my advice. It took you long enough. Now take that ridiculous grin off your face, I'm trying to concentrate here.” 

Lestrade's smile widened. “Oh, no, mate. You're the one who kept nagging me about this, now you're gonna suffer the consequences.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked towards the police tape. Lestrade stuffed his hands into his pockets and followed him, grin still firmly in place.


End file.
